30 Ways to Scare off a Boyfriend
by glitterNsprinkles
Summary: Pashmina wants out of her relationship with Maxwell.
1. Lady of Class

**(A/N) Yay, finally writing something new :) Just warning you of a few things, (1) I'm using the hamtaro humans that were sort of popular like... 5 years ago. If you don't know what I'm talking about, go to this ( angelfire (dot) com/tv2/stan_and_pashmina/hamhuman (dot) html) page. I'm pretty sure these were fanmade, buuuut whateva. (2) This isn't like one of those normal fanfictions where you read it and you're expected to like the main character. Actually, it's the opposite: you're expected _not_ to like her. (3) Mature stuff. So, if you're super sheltered, or like 12, live with it ;) Or go away.**

**

* * *

**

She remembered that one time she helped that shy boy with the blue hair and red bandana with a project, and that one time she gave that odd, hick boy her number. She also remembered that one time in 3rd grade where she told that boy with the glasses his bowtie was neat.

What did this result in?

Persistent admirers.

And by this, she meant to the extremes: finding a locker full of chocolates and paper hearts (to the literal… she ended up having to pay the school back for missing books), outbreaks and class fights, and on occasion, texts wondering why she didn't love them back. It was scary. Oh, how she always attracted the strange ones!

Though, she remembers doing something far worse than asking a boy to work with her, or giving an odd boy her number, or even telling a boy his bowtie was neat.

She remembered sometime around last year. Actually, It was a year and 2 days ago... she had been reminded by him earlier this morning. Like he had every morning. Since a year and 2 days ago.

Oh, her boyfriend. Her lovely, sweet, endearing boyfriend.

He was really the worst.

Unlike the rest, she couldn't stay away from him. She'd usually take the high road and walk away from pursuers. But no. She had tried a lot of things: pretending to be angry, not answering texts, acting too busy for a conversation (admitting her feelings was out of the question!). Though nothing worked. No, he'd look down at her with those large, sad, and blue eyes, a petty frown gracing his lips, and whisper, "Pashmina, don't you love me?"

It was like he never did anything wrong! Well, he didn't. Ever. Though, she'd always like to believe so. And she'd always wish he were different. Always since a year and two days ago.

Then she couldn't remember what made her so bitter. She used to be the sweet, gentle girl. She always used to mother her friends, a classy lady, a grudgeless 16 year old. Now, she was a grudge bearing 17 year old, mother to no one. Although, she still did consider herself as a lady of class: she never spilled her liquor, always obeyed the "puff-puff-pass" rule, and swallowed but always wiped her lips when she was done.

What class!

"Is something wrong?" he said nervously. Nervously! After a year and two days! His pinkish lips just a little bit open, his eyebrows tilted. She was getting tired of his usual "concerned" look. This was the 3rd time today, after all.

And she couldn't help but stare displeasingly at his unusually long face. His rail-like body bothered her to no end (not because she has anything against skinny boys, though it's a little much when he's skinnier than she is. Imagine her frustration! …Thankfully he still weighed more – he was 6'4, tall as a flagpole). Oh, not to mention his eyes. His beautiful blue and sparkling eyes that sank a little too far into his head, and even brightened with a mass of thick eyelashes (envious as she was).

She continued to stare in disinterest. "Perfect."

He continued to frown, closing the enormous blue book in his hands (an encyclopedia?), and moved closer to her on the couch to envelope guilt in every part of her being. It worked. "I love you, Pashmina Mafura. Please tell me what's bothering you."

Oh ho! Prince Charming wannabe! Lovely.

She smiled politely. What else could she do? "Of course! I was just wondering how Penelope was."

She hadn't even _seen_ Penelope for the last month. They texted occasionally, though, but it really was just occasionally.

He nodded, a sweet smile dancing above his chin, and then went back to his book. 'Maxwell…' she sighed. 'Please go home.'

She wished she could say that. God, she wished!

She was just such a lady of class.

* * *

**(A/N) Just letting you know, I don't hate Pashmina. Actually, she's probably my favorite character next to Snoozer. But I'm really mean to my favorite characters for some reason :( Soo yeaahh. ~Ciao. ;)**


	2. Ninja Boy

**(A/N) Wow, I just posted the 1st chapter today and someone already favorited it, and alerted it, and reviewed. Thanks Sandy x Maxwell 4ever ;)**

**

* * *

**

She was in _love_.

She was sure of it!

Her heart raced, and her stomach sank. She felt like she just ran ten miles, because of her lightheaded fatigue. Her fingers tingled to their tips, and she couldn't help from pulling her knees into her chest and silently screaming. She was in love. She was sure of it!

Maxwell? Heaven's sake, no!

This boy was quite active. He never could keep quiet. It was Halloween when she met him.

"What the hell are you doing?" she screamed, almost cried. She was covered head to toe in shaving cream, wearing a skimpy Little Miss Muffet costume in pink (classy as it was). She wiped handfuls of shaving cream from her eyes. Though, it accomplished nothing since her hands where foamy and white as well. She feared she messed up her makeup a big deal. She could just barely see a boy in black grinning widely.

She finally managed to remove what seemed like pounds of clouds off her eyes.

She looks right and left. She wasn't even in the middle in her group of friends. She was on the far left! Always in movies it was the middle girl to find misfortune. The middle girl, the pretty foreign girl from Russia, was dressed in an even skimpier Little Red Riding Hood costume, while the one of the other ones wore cat ears, and the two others didn't dress up (they never got any candy, since they were out-of-costume and a little old for trick-or-treating).

"Aren't you a little old to be trick-or-treating?" he chuckled. His face was really quite cute. Blond hair, blue eyes – his eyes really were charming. His lips were pale and elevated off his face, and his nose was pointed and a little long; although, he did seem a lot older – like 19 maybe (and he was judging them for being too old?). If Pashmina wasn't so upset, she may have thought about dating him for a minute (though, of course she hadn't forgotten about Maxwell… lovely, lovely Maxwell). She couldn't get over that he was really dressed as a ninja… especially after calling _them_ young!

"_Are you not_? _How old are__** you**_?" the Russian girl yelled, pronouncing every letter like a broken-English speaker would.

"20!" he said, "Almost legal!"

It didn't seem like anyone had anything to say to him. So they ended up just leaving, although Pashmina still really wanted to hit him – or get his number. She still couldn't decide which she wanted. They ended up going back to their separate houses so Pashmina could shower.

And then she met him again.

At her book club, no less! He was the newest member, but the last place she'd expected to see him. She thought he was an idiot! And when they all sat down in the circle of chairs, he sat down right next to her and whispered, "You're a lot cuter in that blue dress than you are dressed up as Strawberry Shortcake!" She didn't even bother to correct him.

'That's it,' she thought, 'He's not smart at all! He just followed me here. Creeper."

She was proven wrong when he started to discuss his opinion of the book with the most beautiful use of the dictionary she had ever heard. Her heartbeat picked up tenfold when he finished with something in Latin. The room started to yell, "Oh, you speak Latin?" and, "So impressive!" and even, "Teach me some Latin!"

Pashmina didn't say a word.

She was too busy trying to hold in her heart from falling out her chest.

She was in love!

Oh, she was in love!


	3. Penelope

She was finally visiting Penelope after so long; it seemed like years! However, it was a little troublesome to be around her; the young girl was so impressionable (a month after Pashmina started dating Maxwell, Penelope began dating Cappy… although, she seemed like she actually liked him). Pashmina always tried to be conservative when speaking to Penelope.

"You blew him again?"

Pashmina was beginning to miss the _Okwee_ phase. She was starting to feel like a whore.

"Yes, I blew him again." Her face, red, was in her hands. So much guilt! She didn't even really like Maxwell.

"You don't even really like Maxwell!"

Her thoughts exactly.

"I'm sorry Penelope!" Pashmina was guilt-filled. "We drank a little. I didn't know what we were doing!"

"A little? It's never a little with you!"

"Alright fine!" Pashmina's eyes were glossy and sad, "I drank half a bottle of Vodka."

"Pashmina!" Pashmina looked down, feared of being scolded at by her theoretical little sister for drinking too much, "You're high!"

"What? No way! I never smoke marijuana!"

"Your eyes are so red! And you smell like it too!"

"How would you even know what weed smells like?"

"I'm 14, but I'm not stupid!"

They argued, and argued. But eventually, Pashmina just had to go home. She smoked two cigarettes on the way.

(Parliaments, no doubt.)

* * *

**(A/N) The theme is contradiction ; ) ~Adieu**


	4. I Bought You Vodka

Pashmina's book club just ended.

Maxwell picked her up and took her home.

And she couldn't stop thinking about the boy in her book club. She smiled. Oh, he was so smart. But he was fun and actually did things. She glanced at Maxwell, who misunderstood the message and smiled her way.

"Maxwell, I think we need to start seeing other people."

"W-what?"

"Sorry, there's someone else."

He started bawling.

Or at least that's what she imagined would happen if she said that. Maybe if she ignored him, he'd get the idea and dump _her_ instead.

That's what she planned on doing until he pointed a bottle of Vodka in her face, once they arrived at Pashmina's.

"Oh! Maxell," she clapped her hands, and she batted her lashes, "You shouldn't have."

He really should have.

"I knew you liked peach the best."

Peach vodka really was the best. She licked her lips, and grabbed the bottle. She started walking into the kitchen, and said, "Do you want a shot?"

"Already? Pashmina, it's only 3 on a Saturday!"

She turned around and stared. "And we have Vodka."

They ended up drinking more than they should have. Maxwell only had three shots, and he was done. Pashmina was drinking by the mug, rather than the shot. "I missed this."

"I missed you!" Maxwell tried to lean forward towards Pashmina's chair for a kiss. He misjudged the distance and almost fell, though Pashmina didn't make much (or at all) of an effort to help him reach. "Why don't you want to kiss me? I bought you Vodka."

When he says 'bought', he usually means he paid a friend to get it for him.

"Because." She took another mouthful of the Vodka she put in her mug. She grabbed the bottle to refill it, but before she could reach it, Maxwell grabbed the bottle. He shivered from her icy glare. He suddenly looked as if he was going to cry. Poor baby.

"W-well, you've already drunk enough, sweetheart. You might want to lay off?" he hic-uped. Drunken bastard.

"Don't fucking tell me when to stop drinking!" She roared. He stiffly and nervously handed her the bottle, eyes praying she wouldn't take it back. She did.

"P-Pashmina."

He began bawling.

If she could say that, she totally would.

However, instead she patted down her dress, brushed off the invisible dust covering it, and stood up. "Well, then."

"N-no, wait! Sit down," he pleaded, "Pashmina. I bought you Vodka."

She was drunk, and angry. And he was such a goddamn pussy; always begging, silently threatening to cry, and that book – his goddamn book that really made him boring from the start. It pissed her off. She wanted to hit him.

She ignored his pleas and walked inside from the back porch.

Although she came back in 5 minutes, wanting to smoke a Parliament.


	5. Stan

Math.

How could you describe it? A daily annoyance? No, an "annoyance" nowhere _near_ described Pashmina's hatred for math. Better analogies would be more along the lines of a death sentence, prison, Holocaust gas shower. Maybe not that last one. The last one was a little too dramatic to describe her hate for math… and maybe a little offensive to Jews (it was thoughts like this that made Pashmina grateful others couldn't read her thoughts… she'd probably have a lot less friends – much less a boyfriend she's far been tired of… suddenly she wished people could read her mind).

Pashmina hated math. And she was too focused on the clock to realize the person sitting next to her that was gesturing her to stop tapping her blue mechanical pencil on the desk as furiously as she was.

She almost cried in relief when the bell finally rang!

Actually, she probably really would have if the teacher hadn't yelled at everyone to sit down, forcing the students to keep their seats so their melodramatically speaking teacher could attempt to finish the lesson.

She really hated math.

Only one word could describe Pashmina as she was, and it was pissed.

She angrily speed-walked down the hallway. The nerve of that teacher, she thought! How could he keep them sitting that long? Such torture! And if that's not bad enough, she was also getting blisters from her shoes, she was more than likely going to be late for her next class, and it's _that_ time of the month. Words could only describe the misfortune Pashmina was currently dealing with.

She was so upset; she didn't even notice the blond boy waving.

Then without even realizing what happened, her back was on the floor – the cold, hard, and dirty floor. She felt disgusting. She almost picked herself up from the floor, except the bell rang in that instant. Now, she was filled with a feeling that could only be described as fear – fear of acquiring her first tardy. She almost wasn't able to hold back a flood of tears that obviously had only the intention of destroying her perfectly set makeup.

He was _laughing_.

She finally got up from the floor, staring eye-to-eye with the boy's green eyes. _Now_ she understood what happened. The little bastard tried to grab her hand, causing her to slip, and ultimately found herself on the foul, un-swept floor. Pashmina only knew him as Stan.

"Why the _fuck_ did you do that?" She pushed him. He barely even moved.

"I'm sorry, miss," he said, pronouncing every letter like he would if he was in a hardcore romance film. He entangled her fingers with his. Pashmina's heart sped up (not as if she actually liked him; it's just that the notion was so sensual, it's hard not to feel something). He kissed her hand, gracefully. Then gently let go of her fingers. Any trace of rage she once had was now gone.

She struggled to find any words. Her face was heating up.

"Aw, Pashmina," his voice was like honey – soft and sweet, flowing out of his lips like how they do in those shampoo commercials she's seen so much of lately. But then he started laughing, again. "Your face is so red! It's obvious you like me."

It was gone. Any emotion she might have felt for him in that split second was gone.

"So, you still with Maxwell?"

Oh, why did he have to bring up _him_ of all people?

Of course she would tell him, "Yes, I'm still with Maxwell." She was after all. And the last thing she wanted was someone like Stan, a player, a womanizer, to believe she was single. She'd never hear the end of it!

"No, we broke up."

She was mentally kicking herself.

"Oh, _really_," he grinned, charmingly. He looked pleased. Too pleased. Pashmina wanted to cry. She couldn't go back on what she said now, could she? She wanted to _die_ when she watched him, like in slow motion, lick his lips. "Well, then."

She blanked out, and now suddenly his hand was against the side of her hair, gripping onto the locks of blond hair – entangled around his fingers. She couldn't move. She couldn't even stop him as his face came closer to hers. She panicked, and she closed her eyes.

But then after seconds passed, his nose met with the tip of hers. And he stopped.

She finally opened her eyes; but as soon as she did, he moved away and let go of her hair. She could finally breathe again. He then walked away, a hand in his pocket, and the other extended out as a casual wave.

She thought she was going to be sick once she remembered she was tardy.


	6. Mascara & Men

She was in heaven, she thought.

She found herself in a garden, fruit lining the shelves, a temporary world safe from pursuers and men. The fruit on the shelves were all of best class, and were all held in appealing packaging. The people there, she connected with. They were all similar. Though generally the people in the garden didn't talk, there was an understanding of respect they all held for each other. Two fruits laid in each of the blond girl's palms, deciding which she should choose (they were both rather expensive).

Although, the fruits in her palms weren't really fruit at all.

Actually, they were two brands of mascara: one was only a slightly better known label, but the other one read, "Not tested on animals".

Ironically her science teacher was against animal testing and often made her classes videos about it. Sometimes Pashmina would sit in the back of the room and pretend her science teacher really wasn't playing this. The few times she actually did look at the screen, things like monkeys with tubes shoved threw their nostrils and eyes, getting chemicals pumped into their stomachs, happed. She remembered sitting there wondering why she was never given any consent form! They were forced to watch awful things; once a person even threw up! And what would she be promoting if she did buy the better brand?

She put the other tube of mascara back on the shelf, and kept the better-labeled, chemical containing mascara secure in her hand.

She hated herself sometimes.

She only managed to make one step out of her own personal heaven, after paying of course.

"Pashmina~" he sung. She was tempted to save her ears by covering them, but one hand was occupied holding the bags and the other was keeping her purse in place, safely over her shoulder. She couldn't stand him. That southern accent, his huge teeth, his awkwardly and dirty parted hair, even his abuse of flip-flop sandals bothered her. Howdy, his nickname, simply just wasn't tolerable. She attempted to power walk in the other direction, like she heard nothing.

He caught up to her anyway, a box of chocolates held tightly to his chest.

She couldn't help but snicker. She hadn't eaten chocolate in years! The last thing she wanted was a fat ass, and chocolate was the thing that succeeded in doing so.

It was her luck to find Howdy, only seconds after leaving a place pursuer free. She wondered if it was too late to turn around and head back into the store. No, she was stuck. She was always stuck.

"H-here," he smiled, cheeks flushed, and handed her the small box of chocolates. She smiled, with fake appreciation, and put it in one of her larger bags.

"Thanks, Howdy."

"S-see you later, Pashmina," he stuttered, and then jolted off. What an odd boy.

She started to pace quickly through the hallway of stores, though she didn't seem to move fast enough. She had only been walking away for less than two seconds, when she heard it: the inevitable.

"Howdy, you dolt. What are you doing here?"

She turned around to see a boy carrying a bouquet (at least he actually knew her a little better), sporting a red bowtie and thick-rimmed glasses, with a sweater vest. Dexter, while smart and proper (seemingly perfect), was kind of a loser… therefore, she had no interest. She knew she would be seeing him; somehow, everywhere Howdy goes, Dexter is sure to be near. It's just basic fact.

She just couldn't move fast enough.

She found herself 10 minutes later waiting in line in a somewhat popular coffee shop. Maxwell had called her on her way there and would meet up with her within the next 20 minutes. She shuttered. Maxwell.

It was finally her turn, though she didn't give much thought beforehand of what she actually wanted to drink. She ended naming off a random drink, which was chai tea. She hadn't actually had that in a while, though it did sound nice with the cold, brisk weather outside. She went to the other side of the counter to pick up her drink when it was ready, regrettably.

"P-pashmina?" he blushed, smiling, looking slightly away. She was very un-amused with his shy demeanor, however, and instead awkwardly waved. His blue hair, messy as ever, and his face covered with dirt and car oil. She shuttered. She could _smell_ the gasoline on him. "How h-have you b-b-een? I haven't seen you in some time."

"That's because I've been deliberately avoiding you," she said, a wide smile gracing her lips.

She _wished_ she could say that. She didn't though, and smiled apologetically. "Sorry."

He nodded his head. He began speaking, nervously, then stopped (you'd be surprised; from his shy personality, you wouldn't expect him to have such a deep voice!). The door opened, causing the little bell at the top to ring. Ah, Maxwell. She was almost relieved.

"O-oh, is that your b-boyfriend? I-I should be going!" he awkwardly ran the direction Maxwell came, leaving his coffee in the process.

"What was that about?" Maxwell suddenly appeared behind her, a book in hand (would you expect anything less?).

"Oh, nothing," she picked up the coffee Sora, that's what she thought the boy's name was, had left behind and pushed it towards Maxwell, "Do you want this?"

It was a shame to waste a good cup of coffee sitting out.

He smelled the steam coming off the cup.

"Oh, I don't drink coffee."

She was _almost_ relieved.


	7. Maxwell

Footsteps.

She could hear them, coming closer. Sweat began to build up just underneath her hairline. Her breath, she couldn't control it, was getting heavier. She was scared, terrified! The footsteps continued closer, no pause. She could hear them.

She was frightened.

Hot air on her neck, she jumped, but didn't scream. God, she wanted to scream! She couldn't. She cried, or wanted to. She couldn't to that either.

Her hands were sweating. The hair from her arms stood up. She gripped the bottom of her purple dress, transferring sweat.

"You ready to go?"

He kissed her neck.

Maxwell.

Sitting on her couch, she turned her body to face him. She smiled, pleasantly, fighting the urge to scream at him. She breathed out, sighed.

"Ready."

They had stopped by some gas station on the way to get a few things. Maxwell came back not too much longer carrying a white plastic bag. He handed her a pack of cigarettes. He was officially 18, after all.

She smiled, as pleasant as she could fake it. He placed a cup of coffee in her cup holder, her favorite: black.

"Sorry, but they were out of the other pack you liked."

He was referring to the cigarettes. Obviously.

"It's alright."

He sat down in the driver's seat and started the car, "Don't light one until we get out of the parking lot."

She never forgot. He reminded her every time he bought her a new pack (she couldn't remember the last time she bought her own cigarettes; she never bought her own cigarettes).

She lit one and put the end in her mouth.

"Pashmina! What are you doing? I just told you not to!"

She pulled the cigarette out of her mouth, instantly. "Sorry! I wasn't listening."

She was listening. She could repeat every word he said, even!

He smiled, shaking his head - slowly. He pulled out a pack of gum and put them on the middle section between him and Pashmina. "I didn't know if you wanted gum, but it's new and I thought you might like to try it."

Oh god, she thought, thinking, repeating. She couldn't even come up with any other words than _oh god_. He was annoying. A lost puppy, a cliche, was undoubtedly what she could describe as Maxwell. A lost puppy! It's so cute, at first it's cute. You meet it one day, really meet it. It's already vulnerable, being that it recently broke up with a friend of yours. It's smart and cunning, but before you know what happened - you're dating it! It was just a kiss on the beach - how did that happen? She couldn't remember!

Never kiss a lost puppy.

It will follow you. Forever. And when you try to make it go home, it looks at you with those sad, puppy eyes, breaking your heart; and you eventually, always, take it home.


End file.
